


Here I Stand

by suyari



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Amputee, Comfort, M/M, jorian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suyari/pseuds/suyari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian has magic hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here I Stand

"John, your synthetic leg has been causing you discomfort for three days now."

"I'd ask you how you know, but let's just skip to the part where it really isn't any of your business."

"On the contrary, I am your partner and as any discomfort you feel can directly effect your productivity and may be subsequently potentially damaging to our case, it is very much my business."

John heaved a sigh and kicked his leg softly, unwilling to admit he was in pain, but unable to completely ignore it any longer. "Dorian, just leave it alone."

"You haven't been sleeping sufficiently, nor have you been eating anything beyond foods high in sugar and beverages laced with caffeine. You can't keep up this pace, it's unhealthy and could cause lasting damage."

"Oh, you care. I'm touched."

"I do care. Which is why I'd like to formally apologize."

"For what?"

"For this," he replied, promptly sweeping the detective's legs out from under him.

He barely had time to gasp in surprise - let alone curse - as his damn body went down like a ton of bricks. He didn't hit the floor, though it'd have been far preferable to the bridal hold Dorian cradled him in as he deftly stood as if he'd been merely inspecting lint on the carpet.

"Dorian! I swear, if you don't put me down _right **now**_!"

His partner ignored him, carrying him into the nearest room with a flat surface. Thankfully, no one beyond them really ventured into Rudy's lab. Doubly so, Rudy was currently out gleefully cavorting with some new specs or something. Dorian set him on the synthetic examination recliner with far too much care for his liking.

"What the-?!" he snapped as the synthetic's hands settled over his joint attachment and twisted. There was the briefest sensation of synth to synth connectivity before it was gone. Leaving him slightly breathless, quite confused, and just a little bit turned on.

Dorian set his leg aside carefully and moved to sit in the space it would have occupied. "You're going to have to relay information for me, John," he said, hands settling on either side of John's thigh. "I haven't done this in a while."

"Done wha- _OH_!" His body instantly melted into the unnecessarily comfortable recliner as something warm and decidedly pleasant sparked deep within his muscles.

"I was programed with an extensive array of medical knowledge, and designed with the necessary components to properly utilize them as required."

"You're a walking massage chair."

Dorian snorted. "I am a median level emergency response unit."

"I don't care what you are, don't stop doing that!"

"Synthetic limbs," Dorian explained, as his hands trailed slowly up John's thigh. "Are designed to function at optimal levels of performance, so the individual can maintain their independence and sense of self."

John moaned and bit on his lip to stifle the following sound. Closing his eyes and throwing an arm over them for good measure.

"However, like their predecessors, artificial limbs, they have some understandable flaws in design which the human body cannot find comfort in without adequate interference."

He inhaled deeply, not able to trust himself to speak as Dorian moved further toward his hip and other parts of John became invested in his partner's medical litany.

"Simply put, too much of your own leg remains for your mind to fully accept the synthetic leg. It is a crutch - albeit an able one. But you can't make full use of it if you're too filled with contempt for it."

"I'd like to keep it all the same," he rasped huskily in response.

"Your leg or the synthetic attachment?"

"Yes."

Dorian sighed and shook his head. "You're completely incapable of meeting anything half way aren't you?"

"You know me, always bucking the trends."

His partner hummed noncommittally.

"And I suppose you want me to just admit that I'm better off this way."

"You aren't worse."

It was true, but well, Dorian knew him too well, honestly.

"Any better?"

"A lot. Yeah."

"You're welcome."

He smirked. Pushing himself up, he leaned back on his elbows and made eye contact. If he looked down he'd lose it, he knew, so he purposely held Dorian's gaze. "Does this mean you've decided to be my interference?"

Dorian rolled his eyes. John quite liked when he did that.

"Gonna buffer me from the big bad world?"

"Might I remind you the voltage I carry within me is enough to both restart and stop a human heart?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. You're the biggest, baddest toaster in the land."

"Better than a sentient compost heap."

John's laugh burst from his chest, loud and happy.

"You should go to your therapy appointments, John."

"I'm fine, Dorian."

"Your _physical_ therapy appointments," he corrected.

"Don't need 'em anymore. I can walk just fine on it."

"But you're not receiving the attention you need-"

"I don't like people touching me, okay? It freaks me out."

"Oh." Dorian's hands stilled for a moment before cautiously working deeper. It took John by surprise, and he moaned, head falling back. "But you don't mind that I'm touching you now?"

"You aren't people."

"No. I'm not."

John's hand settled over Dorian's wrist and he smiled at him. "You're my partner."

The small smile he received in return was of the kind that reminded him endlessly that his synthetic was more than what he seemed. As usual, upon notice, warmth flooded his chest. He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain control of the moment. "So, does this mean you're going to be my physical therapist now?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"On whether or not you like explaining these sorts of situations to our co-workers."

John tried to fight it, but the smile made an appearance regardless. "You're relentless."

"I'm a police officer."

"You could at least buy me dinner first."

"Would that help?"

"You don't get paid," he pointed out.

"But I can cook."

John considered it. Laying back, he stretched languidly and relaxed against the recliner, arms behind his head. "How do you feel about windows?"


End file.
